maybe it was yesterday
by alexelle
Summary: "…But good things don't come easy, or so she has heard." Perhaps he was reading too much into the subtle cues. There were many things she could have been upset about. —Dan writes his first short story about Blair Waldorf. He learns much in the process, but he still knows no more than when he started – other than just maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to judge her.
1. maybe it was yesterday

**maybe it was yesterday 12/22/12 2:53 PM  
**

**Summary:**

"…But good things don't come easy, or so she had heard." Perhaps he was reading too much into the subtle cues. There were many things she could have been upset about. –Dan writes his first short story about Blair Waldorf. He learns much in the process, but he still knows no more than when he started – other than just maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to judge her.

**Word Count: **11,311

**Rating: T **for darker themes and descriptions of eating disorders.

**Set somewhere at the end of Season 1. Could be AU, could be part of Dan's fantasy or his book, however you want to see it. My ideas are really just suggestions. I probably have mistakes in here, so feel free to notify me and I'll change them – reviews would be lovely if possible. Thanks for looking/reading! :)  
**

**By the way, I have allusions to at least five different works of literature in here - short, direct quotes or phrases. Can anyone guess what they are/what books they are from? Points if you can!  
**

1.

Clair is young when she meets Sabrina and decides she will become her best friend. And that's simply how it happens.

She is at one of Ellen's charity events – she insists that she is, in fact, old enough to support her mother's clothing line.

Even then, she is petite, at what she considers a respectable age. She attempts to appear older by dressing herself in her mother's designer clothes in the smallest sizes they come (_a size she still fits into now_). She is still drowning in them, but she has managed to make herself more presentable by tucking in the shirt and hiding the excess fabric beneath the skirt. The skirt merely looks conservative instead of inappropriately long. Her hair has been woven into a rather intricate style, and her makeup, which she is proud to say she has learned to do herself (well, with the reluctant help of her maid, Katia), is flawless.

She remembers having to push everyone around her to be able to see anything through the heavy crowd. Yet despite her best efforts, the older and much larger people seem to insist on staying right where they are, _in her way_. When the crowd suddenly parts, she remembers attempting to look over everyone's heads by standing on her tiptoes, wanting to see what has caused the commotion.

She has not met anyone at the event fewer than ten years older than herself. Needless to say, she is rather surprised to see that the object of attention and respect is another young socialite – a girl she has seen before at school, in her own class.

She has beautiful blonde locks, which appear to be naturally highlighted and waved all the way down to her waist (_after that, Clair decides she wants to grow her own hair, which is then chin-length – like her favorite actress – out into its longer natural ringlets_). Her face is even brighter. She wears a grin with her designer dress.

Unlike Clair's outfit, hers actually fits her. At first the brunette attributes it to her advanced height, but then she realizes even that could not make up for her obviously-not-fully-grown figure.

Clair realizes that someone must have gone to the trouble of making the perfect dress for her; someone must have decided she deserves to have the perfect dresses, even as young as she is.

It is then that Clair decides she is going to make Sabrina Cavell-Vale her best friend, and she ducks her way through the crowd in order to get close enough to introduce herself.

2.

It doesn't take too much longer for Clair to realize that her friend is much prettier than herself.

When she takes Sabrina to meet Ellen the next Sunday, it is the first time her mother smiles at her in a week. She tells her, "_Clair, darling, it's great that you're finally making well-connected friends._" The Cavell-Vales will always be welcome in their home, even when she isn't.

Her minions from school would easily flock toward the golden girl if she were to call, so the girl they worship holds her arms-length away from them.

Older boys smile at Sabrina dreamily. Even Charlie Trout makes lewd comments toward her, while he ignores Clair, because she is too _pristine_ and _pure_ to make any experience he has with her worthwhile.

But that is okay, because Sabrina helps her pick out an outfit to wear to school that day. She is excited to go back to school, unlike Sabrina.

She wears her cream silk skirt with her floral red blouse and headband for Luke. Sabrina tells her she looks absolutely adorable, and that they had made the perfect outfit choice.

But when Luke doesn't come up to her by lunch (_she couldn't come to him – that would look desperate_), she decides to find him, and searches around the lunch area with her eyes. It doesn't take long. At first glance, he appears to be staring at her. It excites her, and she smiles at him. But when his eyes don't show any sign of recognition, she realizes that he is staring at the girl _next to her_.

Sabrina always has been more desirable, after all.

3.

Clair admires Sabrina's ability to be naturally thin, naturally beautiful.

Sabrina had been the one to suggest they try the croissants from the bakery downtown. After that, she said, _there's no way we can go more than an entire week without tasting another one of these. Clair, can we please make this our first tradition together?_

When Sabrina reaches for a croissant and takes a bite out of it, Clair watches crumbs of flaky crust fall onto her china plate. When Clair reaches for one of her own, Ellen reaches out a hand to stop her.

"Clair," she says pointedly, "wouldn't you find this _low-fat_ yogurt much more appealing?"

She meets Ellen halfway and takes the hundred-calorie container, then sets it down on the table next to her plate and continues her idle conversation, not really into it anymore (_either of them_).

Sabrina hasn't even heard the exchange; she has been speaking to the maid about something Clair would most likely find irrelevant. Anything that would require her to speak to _the help_ would be.

"Katia," she says after a few minutes, crisply. "We have finished. You may remove the rest from our sight, and we will be leaving now."

She hasn't even opened the container, let alone taken a bite. She has to be more careful than Sabrina – she has a slow metabolism, she has bad genetics (_that can't be it, because Ellen is perfectly thin)_, Sabrina gets more exercise (_Sabrina doesn't even play a sport_) – she doesn't know what it is, all she knows is that she has to be more careful.

She is already on her way to being fat – she has to slow down the process as much as possible.

Before Katia takes the plate away, Sabrina reaches across the table and snatches another croissant off of it. She grins, and says, _well, it is a tradition._

4.

During gym class, they are checking health. The big scale stands at one side of the gym, and all of the girls have formed a line in front of it. She and Sabrina are at the very end – they have lingered behind the rest of the class, talking (or gossiping, more likely).

Theoretically, that should give her plenty of time to prepare for the number that will stare up at her accusingly as she stands on the scale. Theoretically. It only makes her worry more.

Her mother has told her, "_At this point in your life, you are the thinnest and most beautiful you will ever be. Make the most of it_."

She is trying, but _damn it _– couldn't they have given her more time before weighing her, to let her lose some of the weight she has gained over the past year? Or maybe it is a good idea they are getting it over with – before she gains even more. She doesn't want to look like even more of an elephant in front of the other girls.

They will measure height first, then weight.

It is irrational, Clair knows, but as they get closer to the front of the line, her heart beats harder and her body gets heavier. Most of the other girls have already cleared out and continued on to other daily gym activities – flirting, for example.

Clair tells Sabrina she can go first, and lingers behind.

She almost doesn't want to know, but she does at the same time. Serena is five-eight and one-twenty-one pounds. Thin (as expected), but perfectly normal for a girl of her age. Sabrina has passed with flying colors, as expected.

Clair tells her she can go ahead (_she shouldn't have to see, let alone hear, how much of an elephant Clair is)_, but her best friend refuses.

The brunette is measured first. She is five-five – as expected. She isn't getting any taller.

She is then motioned toward the scale. She gets on with only a moment of hesitation (_she can't, she won't be a coward_).

One-oh-six.

A sigh of relief is the first thing she feels. She has _lost six pounds _since last year.

She weighs less than Sabrina? How is that even possible? It must be because Sabrina is so much taller, she reasons. She _should _weigh _a lot_ less than Sabrina, actually, at a healthy weight. Sabrina is naturally tall, naturally beautiful. She doesn't weigh much less than her, even at her _meager_ height, because she is still fat. She needs more, and cutting back is working, albeit slowly.

The gym teacher admonishes her – he tells her she is still healthy at her age, but she is borderline underweight, and to be careful. She inwardly scoffs, and leaves, half relieved, half angry. If she's underweight, it's a wonder half the girls in her class aren't dead already.

Sabrina doesn't say anything about the event, but she does give Clair a fleeting worried glance before changing subjects.

5.

She has to have so much resolve.

Her new manta has been _if Sabrina takes one I will take half. If Sabrina takes half I will take an eighth – that probably means it's particularly fatty. _It has been _if Sabrina doesn't take any oh God there's no way to have less I need _

But the one thing she really can't stand is people looking at her like _they know her_, they _sympathize_ with her, saying they _know what she is doing_, they _want to help_.

Sabrina is the first to do it. She has acted a little less carefree lately around Clair, and a lot more observant. Not Sabrina-like. Sabrina is supposed to be fun and flirty and careless and _well-connected_ (_Clair resents this one_) and beautiful and _everything Clair is not_.

For brunch, at the restaurant they are in, Sabrina has ordered a large stack of pancakes drenched in syrup and strawberries and whipped cream and _fat fat fat._ Clair has ordered a small yogurt parfait. When they get their orders, neither of them touch their food (_Clair has been waiting for Sabrina so she can see how much she will be able to eat_). She isn't prepared for her friend to scrutinize her.

"Clair – I've been watching you a lot lately, and…" She falters for a second before regaining her confidence. "Clair, you haven't been eating."

Hearing it out loud makes the brunette feel funny. It isn't true – she eats, just not as much as others seem to (_God, it is disgusting how much people think they need to survive, anyway_). She is just careful.

"S," she begins, voice as confident as ever. "Of course I have. I'm just on a small diet."

"Diets don't normally include cutting down on _salad_, C."

She admits to herself that that had been a rather stupid move on her part, but it _is_ part of her rule (_she supposes she should have modified her rulebook to take the type of item into account_). Another stupid move had been setting all of her rules based on Sabrina; when she isn't around Sabrina, she has to guess what the blonde is eating, and she has the sneaking suspicion she is always guessing too highly.

"Don't worry about it, S. I'm really _fine_, I just wasn't hungry then."

"I don't believe you," her normally carefree best friend accuses. It is one of the rare times in which she is completely clear-headed (she has taken up a more recent habit of drinking and going to parties with her new friend Diana – _Clair thinks she is a bitch_), and she seems particularly crabby because of it, in Clair's opinion. "Prove it."

Even Charlie agrees that among Clair's greatest weaknesses are the inability to back down from a direct challenge and the need to do things to spite others.

"_Fine_. I will," she answers forcefully before pausing. "What do you want me to do?"

Sabrina nearly smiles at the return of her _Clair_. But before she loses her resolve – she needs to force Clair to do this, she needs to eat to survive – she wordlessly picks up her plate and switches it with Clair's bowl.

The brunette barely holds back her glare. She picks up her fork with one hand, her knife with another. She cuts the first pancake into halves, then quarters, then eights. If Sabrina had eaten a pancake, she would have eaten an eighth. Then she picks up her utensils again. They feel needlessly heavy.

She brings her eyes back up to Sabrina's – they are still watching her, and she grits her teeth. And _she_ brings _the _fork _to _her _mouth_. And _her _teeth _grab_ hold _of _the _bite_ of _pancake _and _strawberry_ and _deadly _cream. _And _she _chews_. And _chews_. _And _chews. _And _swallows.

It is so quick. And much too delicious.

She eats the first pancake, the second, the third. The fourth she eats more quickly than she had the first three together – without even cutting it up. After the fourth she feels as full as she used to after hearty meals. She eats the fifth pancake, and finishes the strawberries. She eats the remainder of the just-barely melted cream with her spoon, and fights the urge to lick up the residue with her tongue.

Sabrina claps, only halfway through the yogurt parfait. She grins. "See, I knew you were hungry, C."

Clair can't deny that. "Yes, of course. After all, I wasn't hungry for all of the salad yesterday. As I explained," she says curtly.

Her friend isn't deterred. "Thanks, C. I just wanted to be sure nothing was wrong. Shall we go now?"

As they leave, Clair looks back to their table. Sabrina had still only been halfway through her own meal. If Sabrina had eaten only half of the yogurt, the blonde could have only eaten a quarter of the pancakes at most. That means that Clair would have eaten a sixteenth of the yogurt.

She – oh God, what has she done? Every controlled bite she has taken in the past has all been for nothing.

The word echoes in her head. _Nothing. Nothing. _I am nothing.

It is then that she first thinks about the act. It is desperate, but quickly becoming necessary.

She has heard about it, that is for sure. Eating disorders are not uncommon on the Upper East Side – people need to look good for the media, after all. But they are never extreme enough to even be diagnosed – think of all of the unpopular media attention.

And Clair won't take it that far, either.

When she gets home and says a quick good-bye to Sabrina, she goes straight to her private bathroom.

She expects it to be easier. Plunging her manicured nails down her throat makes her eyes burn with tears and her face unnaturally flushed. She can taste the nail polish, and her nails scratch against the back of her throat.

She gags, but she doesn't throw up. It takes nearly an hour the first time, and her determination has to win over her patience. She expects it to be easier. But good things don't come easy, or so she has heard.

6.

Practice makes perfect, and _Clair Henley_ has always been perfection.

She uses her new method as a crutch, she knows. It is easier – no one is suspicious; not Sabrina, not Ellen or Luke (_not that they would care_), not Leroy (_her father has been so distracted lately anyway_), not Katie or Izzie or any of her other friends (_though they would only compliment her on the result, all the while whispering about how disgusting it, she is_).

She cuts her nails back, and tells herself that _that _is the best way to put bright nail polish on, anyway. It's not classy to wear that color polish with long nails, and she's never been anything but classy. Scarlet red becomes her signature color; it is a habit that will continue far into the future.

Half the time she is so hungry she wants to eat everything; half the time she is so hungry she doesn't want to eat ever again. And then there is the relatively small amount of time she spends so full she can literally never eat again.

Tonight is another one of _those _nights – the nights she just can't stop herself stop devouring everything in sight, the alcohol as well as the food. Unluckily for her, it's also the night of her minion Katie's birthday party, and she resents her own lack of self-control (_she has to find some other way to achieve it_).

She mocks Katie for Sabrina, saying she will wish her happy "barf-day" gleefully, because it's what Sabrina expects of her. The bitch is born the same day she starts pretending she's eating when she's not, pretending she's innocently brushing up on her makeup when she's really purging everything she's eaten that day. Little does Sabrina know, she is having her own "barf-day" as well.

No one notices her slink away to Katie's room – she has a private bathroom, and none of the party guests will be there. She closes the door and performs her routine as silently as possible.

She has just finished when the door opens, and the boy Sabrina was talking to when she pulled her away appears.

Clair tries to conserve her dignity by pulling her manicured finger out of her throat as delicately as possible. Even though her nails are shorter and she washes her hands before so they will be wet, it still hurts because claws aren't really that _delicate_, even short ones_._

It only takes a few seconds for the logic to run through her head. The intruder isn't anyone she knows. She knows everyone important on the Upper East Side. No one who's _no one_ is able to spread rumors that stick, so he can't tell anyone that will believe him. She's stupid for forgetting to lock the door, but she's safe, and there's no need for making excuses or begging and pleading or even _talking_ to a loser like him.

He's just met the _girl of his dreams_, anyway – he's probably still so starry-eyed after his encounter with Sabrina that he doesn't even see her there (_it's what she wanted, isn't it, to be small?_).

She walks over to the mirror and washes her hands, and splashes water on her face before patting it with the towel. Then she removes her makeup supplies from her small gold clutch (_he doesn't know what designer it is; he is merely shocked with how much she is able to fit in it)_ and begins by brushing up on foundation.

The boy she has immediately labeled as a loser realizes that she isn't going to make the first move. He's a bit bolder than she originally thought, apparently, because he has the nerve to speak to the _ice queen_ and maybe even label _her _as assailable.

"You don't need to do, erm, _that_, you know," he says. His eyes are still wide-open in shock and she wants to tell him to close his mouth or he'll attract flies, but it's much too plebeian for a proper _Clair Henley _response.

Instead, she settles for sending him an icy glare.

"What are you even doing up here, _Labrador_? Are you so pathetic that one conversation with Sabrina enthralls you so much you feel the need to _stalk _everyone she is associated with? In case you hadn't noticed, this area is _off-limits_."

She's talking to him like he's five and he can't help but be a bit offended. He's still confused for a second – he's never been to any parties before and really doesn't comprehend that he isn't supposed to be up here.

"Why are you here, then?"

"_I_, for one, am friends with the hostess. _You_, however, are not. Get out and if I see you again, I will _destroy_ you."

"Wait – I still think we should talk about –"

He stumbles over his words, not sure how to approach such an intimate subject with a stranger, and she takes advantage of that by interrupting and making it as clear as possible that she's the one in charge here. "I said get out! We are not _friends_, Labrador. Don't think this" – she gestures between them to convey their encounter – "means anything."

Her teeth are gritted and her perfectly aligned features are set into an angry, deadly scowl. He's finally met the true _Queen C _persona – also not-so-affectionally titled _Queen B_ for _bitch_.

He starts to back away, but he trips over something in Katie's room and lands harshly on his stomach. He supposes Clair has finished with her makeup now, because when he tries to get up again, he feels a stiletto pressing into his back. When he glances behind him, he sees a look of contempt overshadowing her face. The message is clear: _He's below her in every way possible._

She brushes past him and leaves the room.

He leaves as well, as quickly as possible. The whole party, that is. He's met two people of importance: an angelic blonde who inspires bursts of feeling (euphoric love and lust) in him and a malicious brunette who makes his blood run cold. She has made an impression as well. It's clear she wanted to overrule any sympathy he might have had with distaste and fear. He's not sure if she succeeded.

She must have, because Queen B still has her crown for another night – he won't be the one to knock it off her head.

Later, when she looks him up, she finds out his name is Dylan Hunter.

7.

It takes too long (_or too short_) for Sabrina to find out.

Clair has to practically run into the bathroom after the lunch they've eaten because her body won't let her keep the food inside. It's ironic that _it_ has gotten so out of control because a major reason for _it _is control.

Sabrina follows her this time.

She hears gagging and coughing through the door, and it doesn't sound pretty.

She screams Clair's name and begs her to open the door in such an unSabrinalike manner, with an _open the damn door or I'll tear it down because God, Clair, I need you and I need you to need yourself to live._ It's unlike her to yell or act so desperately, but it's her best friend and she's scared for her.

Clair isn't sure she believes that Sabrina could care for her that much. How can she, when Clair is so pathetic and she is _Sabrina Cavell-Vale_? When Clair chose her as a friend, it was because of her superficial _connections_, so Sabrina shouldn't care for her.

She feels lower than ever when she washes her face and unlocks the door and Sabrina hugs her and desperately clings to her. She feels dizzy. She thinks her heart should be pounding, but a side effect of not eating and throwing up is an extraordinarily low heart rate, and she hates it, but all of the generalities seem to apply to her as well (_she thinks it's the first message to others that she's not invincible, so she does her best to hide it_).

She and Sabrina never talk about why or how or any of the details. Sabrina tells Ellen and Ellen ships her off to a physiatrist's office to talk about her problems.

Sabrina thinks it's over after that.

She doesn't tell Dr. Sherman anything of importance, but she makes him believe she has. She makes him believe she's trying, she's getting better.

She gains only a little bit of weight back whilst trying to convince them of this. It looks like a ton when she looks in the mirror. If they are telling _her_ to gain weight, they should really be telling Sabrina and practically everyone else but her.

Ellen hears her throwing up again one day over the sound of the running water. She starts sending her to therapy double the previous amount.

Clair convinces her that she is finally better. Therapy doesn't make any difference to her; she lies and she cheats and she doesn't allow it to taint her mindset.

Ellen doesn't understand the word _relapse_, and for that Clair is grateful.

8.

Clair dates Luke after all. All of the nights she spends with him are fun and not-serious, and he is clueless enough to leave her alone when she serves him meals and claims that she isn't hungry herself, or disappears to the bathroom for twenty minutes. He's too interested in the movie to notice (_she doesn't watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ like she wants; instead, she picks out a movie Luke would want to see in preparation_).

She pretends not to notice when he spends a little too long hugging Sabrina (_after all, they are friends_) or stares at the blonde instead of his own girlfriend (_she isn't naïve enough to believe she is as pretty, so she doesn't blame him and consequently doesn't snap at him to stop)_.

While they are "together," they are never really together. Clair often finds herself two steps behind him – she isn't sure how; he walks lazily, while she walks with a purpose – shouldn't it be the other way around?

One day, at yet another event she has dragged Luke to, he and Sabrina disappear for a while and she has to ask Charlie of all people where they are. Charlie is unhelpful, as always. She wonders why they are even friends, but she and Luke and Charlie and Sabrina have been together for such a long time now that she doesn't even know. It's the same as ever, but it's not and she knows it.

In any case, she doesn't find them. The people begin to clear out and neither Luke nor Sabrina ever appears. She calls and she calls and no one ever answers. It's the same as ever, but it's not and she knows it.

The next day, she has her chauffeur drive her to Sabrina's house.

She doesn't knock on the door; she merely walks in because it's _Sabrina_ and she's _Clair_ and they've always been best friends and they tell each other everything so it's not necessary to knock and they're always coming over to each other's houses so she shouldn't have to.

It strikes Clair as strange. The house is eerily silent the way it never is when Sabrina is around; she's always the life of the party.

She sees Iris and she asks where she can find Sabrina.

Iris is shocked to hear that Clair doesn't know. She tells her that Sabrina has gone to Connecticut for a new boarding school. Clair wants to ask why but she doesn't want Iris to be there for a full-on breakdown. The way her face and eyes are stinging and her hands are shaking indicate that it is inevitable.

She thanks Iris and says, "Oh, right," like she knows exactly what's going on and walks out. She walks home even though the limo she came in is right there waiting.

She doesn't do anything dramatic. She doesn't throw up or cut herself or jump off the roof. She just _doesn't_. She doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, but she barely gets out of bed.

Then she picks herself back up and calls herself Queen B. She pretends she knows exactly what happened to Sabrina and they are still just as close as ever, no matter how far away the blonde is. She pretends she's not as far away from feeling like a queen as ever.

She finally stakes her claim on Luke and ignores any sneaking suspicion she might have about his whereabouts the night Sabrina left.

Clair the bitch (_Clair Alone_) still reigns. No one can take that away from her, not even Sabrina.

It's not long after that her father tells his _Clairbear_ he is leaving Ellen. He says he's gay, and he never really loved Ellen in the way he thought he did. He tells her he's found another man, but he'll still love _her _the same. It's a lie, of course, but she understands his decision. If she were in his place, she'd want to leave her too.

She understands, but that doesn't mean she's happy. When she twists her gaze back to his and fights the crushing expression her face begs to show, she sees no regret in his eyes – mirrors of hers, but with more emotion. And while the regularity of their acts in the universe (_infidelity, lying – like father, like daughter_) seem to finally comfort him, it fills her heart with darkness.

She's so empty that she just wants to run and scream and cry, but she can't even do that (_she's too weak to run – she faints all the time now; she has to stay prim and proper – proper ladies don't scream, it's not polite; she's so unhappy that tears stay just out of her reach, all the time)_.

9.

Clair can't bring herself to truly care about anything anymore, so she focuses on the Small Things. She makes them mask the Big Things, making the pain a little less fresh (_though she's always craved a sharper, more sudden pain_).

She doesn't become like Sabrina, crazy and out-of-control, high on life. Instead, Gossip Girl labels her as the equivalent of a high-class princess on the Upper East Side. She is untouchable, as she has always been. They talk about her, and Sabrina isn't around for her to duck behind on her knees.

She shouldn't ever have been so scared. She knows there's only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. She even has Oscar Wilde on her side to prove it.

When she goes to English that day, Charlie Trout gives her a smirk as he walks to class for her. Of course it's only now that she's tainted that he finds any interest in her. It's typical. But if she'll admit it to herself, danger and living on edge appeals to her. It offers her an escape from her own reality that isn't so fake.

Her red bow lips curl back. Giving Charlie Trout a smile back offers her a couple seconds of solace before it is snatched away.

She finds it stupid how so many of their classes are co-ed, yet the men and women are considered as coming from different schools. She supposes it is because the schools are small, but that doesn't make it any better. It just means there's a _reason _behind having to stay in the same class as _Dylan Hunter_ all period.

Yes; she knows he is there. She doesn't acknowledge him, and he doesn't question it.

In AP Psychology they are having what the teacher calls _journal time_, which means that during the class period, she has the students write to themselves about a chosen subject and pass their entries up anonymously. She likes to hear their opinions on things that they study in class, but she isn't naïve enough to believe they will all raise their hands.

She still picks them up from each student individually in order to check him or her off. There have been incidents in the past in which people have refrained from turning in their papers or writing anything at all because they couldn't see how it would affect their grade. Even Clair, who is a renowned straight-A student, is guilty.

Today, the topic is "eating disorders." Clair nearly snorts at the irony – the topic might evoke some _thought _but it won't be the type of response she wants. Everyone knows that eating disorders are not uncommon on the Upper East Side – people need to look good for the media, after all. Clair isn't even stupid enough to believe she doesn't have one; it just isn't serious enough for anyone else to be concerned.

But she's always wanted to live on the edge. In the realm of danger. It's why she hangs around Charlie Trout, after all.

So she writes a narrative. It's disturbing and inappropriate and completely idiotic and out-of-character for her to do.

She switches to her left, non-writing hand and uses the most generic pen possible in a most unClairlike fashion. She sloppily writes a few short, choppy pages on the feeling of slipping her finger down into the depths of her throat (_except it's not really like _slipping_ because the word sounds so soft and harmless_). It's completely pro-Mia with a light, satirical tone. She writes briefly on the feelings that lead to the act, then grimaces – it's the type of thought her teacher might actually want to evoke, and she wants to erase it, but it doesn't feel right somehow to do so.

Her character spends the whole time wishing for someone to save her. It's completely dramatic and over-the-top, and no one comes. Even _Clair _wouldn't come to rescue the pathetic creature that is portrayed.

She is surprised with how well the choppiness flows together.

It comes time to turn the papers in, and she shoves her paper under someone else's and tells the teacher she's turned it in. She trusts her because the brunette is the best student in the women's class, not that that means anything.

When the class meets again, Clair is not happy to see that these papers have been returned – and not to whomever they came from. The teacher tells them that she has randomly redistributed their papers from yesterday for their classmates to read. She says they are to use any information they learn for a class discussion on the subject that they all _must participate in_.

Clair's makeup keeps her face from appearing too pale, but her palms are sweaty and her limbs are shaky. She tells her teacher she feels sick, and for once, it's not a lie.

She goes to the bathroom and involuntarily vomits up any water she might have in her stomach.

After the class discussion, Dylan Hunter pockets her paper instead of turning it in with the others.

He can't help but think that each soft _thump_ of her heels hitting the hard wood floors as she walks into the hallway sounds like a knock on the door of unhappiness.

Clair is surprised when she gets a letter in the mail telling her that she has won an essay competition. She emails the coordinator saying there must be some type of mistake and that she didn't write an essay.

He emails her back with a copy of the winning paper, asking if it is hers. He comments that it would be a shame if the short story weren't hers, seeing as it is such a wonderful paper – it manages to say so much in such a short period of time – and he doesn't know whose else it could possibly be. She can practically hear the begging in his voice for her to claim it so he can "give her proper credit for her work."

She opens the file and blinks in shock. They're _her words, _typed up on the screen. She reads it. She realizes she is trembling after finishing the first paragraph (_maybe it was the lunch she didn't have_).

Clair's confusion regarding how she could have won the competition when she didn't enter is overshadowed by her dismay of having someone actually _like_ her work, particularly _that one_. It's so bitter and cold and _real _that it blinds her just looking at it.

Before she changes her mind, she emails him back claiming the paper as her own. She only has one request – that he does not share it with anyone else. He agrees, and she thinks that it must be out of relief that he doesn't have to find another winner.

When she is up on stage receiving her award at the banquet, she looks around for at least one familiar face, but finds no one. Not even the mysterious person who entered her paper, somehow knowing it was hers, makes an appearance. She doesn't see Dylan Hunter slouched over in the corner.

She supposes she should be grateful that she doesn't have to explain to Ellen what her paper is about.

She recognizes that her success should be enough, but it isn't when there isn't anyone to share it with. But she's always been a selfish little girl, hoarding her success for herself, and when she grows up into a selfish woman, she'll be just as alone because it's what she's best (_and worst_) at.

10.

Sabrina comes back into town and Clair isn't pretty. When she talks to her, Sabrina doesn't mention the fact that Clair has lost weight. The situation is much too precarious for such a delicate subject (_and it always will be_).

Making up with Sabrina is a relief because no matter what petty things Clair does to her in revenge, she always has her title of Sabrina Cavell-Vale to fall back on, while even one go at retaliation from Sabrina succeeds in smashing Clair herself into a million shards of glass (_all of her childhood dreams – Luke, Yale – will soon be lost to her)_. Sometimes, Clair's blows even succeed in hurting herself (_because hurting Eric is not what she intended; she doesn't want to touch anyone who has brushed with anything as dark as suicide in fear that its association with her will become deeper_).

She stays with Luke and Sabrina despite their unfaithfulness. It's pathetic. But what's really pathetic is when she reads Sabrina the letter she wrote and didn't send.

When she wrote the letter, she felt as if she was finally becoming closer to her friend, even though they were further apart than ever. It's stupid that she wrote about how she had no one to talk to when she doesn't talk to Sabrina about the things that truly matter even when she is there. _Dylan Hunter _has more insight than Sabrina, and she doesn't even know him.

When she "meets" him for the first time, with Sabrina (_why did she see anything in him of all people?_), she stands there and introduces herself sweetly and pretends he doesn't know anything about her. He has a look of dismay on his face, and she's sure it's not just about what she is telling him about the girl he wants to call his girlfriend, but she acts as if she doesn't remember him and she no would argue that she isn't convincing.

The second time, she is with Sabrina and has gone inside a shop to use their restroom (_throw up in their toilet; her mother has come back from Paris and even though she's lost more than two pounds while Ellen was away, she won't even look at her daughter next to the golden girl_). She claims that the place is "disgusting" and that they shouldn't come back and she isn't lying, but while it might not be good enough for Queen C, it's good enough for the lowly, desperate C she seems to have become.

She looks at Hunter with distaste and makes a few expected comments about his smell and appearance before walking off by herself. She knows he's from Brooklyn now, so she has a legitimate reason to dislike him.

She still hears Sabrina behind her, excusing her with a feeble, "Clair can be a little… Clair." At first she wonders how Sabrina can possibly be her best friend if she thinks so little of her, but then she realizes it's true and she should just be grateful Sabrina is her friend anyway. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

The day isn't all bad. Ellen actually chooses _her _to represent her fashion line, and the smile she displays for the world suddenly seems as dazzling as Sabrina's.

When Dylan Hunter calls Sabrina and asks to speak to her, it's even with minimal displeasure that she answers, "Apparently you can, Labrador." If he's a Labrador, he seems quite tame – she must have scared him into submission during their first meeting. There's nothing left for her to worry about – she's left to her spinning and posing in preparation for the photo shoot.

Of course, her world coming crashing down is inevitable. She really is convinced that they think she looks beautiful in her mother's clothing, and she tries, she really does.

"How's the client going to like the dress if the model doesn't even like herself?"

"_How's the client going to like the dress if the model doesn't even like herself?_"

There's a reason no one likes her. She says it's because she has to choose between like and fear, and fear is so much more effective, but it's really just because she knows no one else can like her when she doesn't like herself (_not _if _because it's definitely not a question_).

She wonders how a mere photographer is able to see more about her from just a few brief interactions than anyone else in her life ever has. She can't come up with anything, and all of her studies suddenly seem worthless.

Outwardly, she blames Sabrina for stealing her spotlight because she doesn't have anyone else to blame but herself (_because it's her fault; she's not thin or beautiful enough for Ellen_). She makes sure she everything she says to Sabrina is hurtful and out of line because she doesn't deserve to have her as a friend and she's becoming so _close _that she's suffocating Clair and _God she needs space and time because she's so fucked up on her own that_

Dylan Hunter of all people shows up when she's feeling as low as ever and curled up on the floor of a deserted hallway. He's here for Sabrina, of course. Neither of them mentions _it_, but he tells her this sad story about his family which is supposed to make her feel better. It doesn't, but is doesn't make her feel worse and at least there is someone there to soften the blow. She doesn't feel as if she needs to emphasize her superiority because he's already seen her at her lowest and she's already taken control of that situation.

Clair wonders why he even tries. She wouldn't do the same for him, and they aren't friends by any definition.

But excluding a few necessary insults, she acts civil toward him next encounter with Sabrina.

11.

Clair still plays these games with herself, with others. For Luke, it's "find me by midnight and you get me, all night." She plays the dark queen; he plays the prince.

It's no surprise that the prince isn't suited for the dark queen. Charlie Trout – the devil – is more suited for that job.

It's almost a relief that he doesn't find her. She wants to get rid of her virginity, but she's so scared of what happens when the clothes come off – that all her bravado will disappear and she'll hold her breath as he looks at her. At least with Luke, he won't really be looking at _her_, so when he doesn't tell her she's beautiful, it won't be as much of a blow (_theoretically_).

Little Alice Hunter (_somehow he still worms his way into her life, even through his sister_) is the one that finally shatters her fairytale with Luke. She may just be the messenger, but Clair needs someone to blame so she is the scapegoat. She knows that he isn't as into her as she is into him, but she hadn't thought he would be so insensitive as to keep dating her while surreptitiously making out with Sabrina.

So she has sex with Charlie instead. He doesn't make her feel loved like she's always wanted and she holds her breath practically the whole time. But she takes her dress off like she doesn't care who's watching and the crowd is polite enough to look at her like she's the sexiest thing ever. He doesn't tell her she's beautiful, but he asks her if she's sure and tells her she's amazing instead (_he doesn't comment on her visible ribs, even though he hasn't seen them so blatantly on any other girl before_).

It's almost enough.

Next time she sees him, it's her birthday. She's seventeen now, and she's ruthless. Charlie Trout actually _likes _her, and admits to it. She crushes his open heart instead of gently pushing it back toward him (she's hoping Luke will call like always). She rips the wings off the butterflies in his stomach and leaves them as grotesque crumbling skeletons.

Luke doesn't call and she's left all alone, despite all of the people and gifts that surround her. She intends to stay that way because it's easier.

But she wants everything too much, and she craves a deeper connection with the world around her than the superficial touches she gets.

She has promised to herself not to accept anything Charlie gives her, but when he shows up with the necklace, the necklace that is supposed to be from Luke, it's all she can do not to snatch it away.

It's a beautiful relic; that night, she wears a dress designed to display her bare neck so that it will be unmissable when she puts it on. It's the mark of love that she desperately wants, and though she resists with a feeble "I can't accept this," a sort of _envie _grasps her and she holds back, letting him place it precariously on her neck.

Her twisted mind makes her believe that the love they try to make that night is all the repayment he needs. She's giving herself a present, too; this connection with him supplies a weak link to feeling, to life, that she hasn't fully had for a long time. He may think he's using her for sex, but it's really the other way around.

She still comes running back to Luke, out of habit. Sex as an escape seems to be quickly becoming a habit, too (_she can't become like Charlie, it's just not Clair Henley – but who is Clair Henley, anyway?_). She holds her breath just as much with Luke as with Charlie, and his hands on her stomach make her more than a little uncomfortable. But she's never been one to back out of anything, so she goes through with it.

She doesn't even think of how Charlie feels – _since when is Charlie Trout human enough to have feelings_? The monster takes control and with one action, she crushes both of their hearts – or neither.

Why does she feel so played when she is the one playing them?

She may have crushed their hearts and nearly strangled them, but they mangle hers beyond repair. It's a much weaker thing; while she can press down on theirs so hard they can't breathe, theirs fill out again, ready to love, while hers is smaller and more easily warped.

Luke's face is openly filled with scorn and disgust now when he looks at her (_the same expressions she imagines she wears when looking at someone like Dylan Hunter_). She has pushed Sabrina away so far that she will not bear to spend a moment more with her best friend (_the heat of the moment can still start a forest fire_).

Even Charlie Trout denies her. He says she is not delicate (_she knew that_). He says she is not beautiful anymore (_was she ever?_). He calls her a tamed animal and leaves her at that. The challenge of submission was the chase, and now that it is over, he does not care. She isn't worth being cared about.

She goes home. Ellen is there, waiting, not for her but she isn't heartless enough to ignore her daughter after seeing the state she is in. Clair begs to leave. France is barely far enough away. She doesn't want to see her father – she doesn't want her father to see what she has become.

But it's all she has left.

She's a whore, pure and simple.

When she cries, she kneels down on the floor and puts her head in Ellen's lap (_she never cries, and she would never want to do it in front of Ellen_). Ellen Henley is _high-class_, and though Clair Henley would never be caught dead in a position of weakness, for Clair _, the floor of the Henley penthouse isn't low enough.

Ellen strokes her messy dark curls and she misses the way her mother was with her when she was much younger. As she breathes heavily, she wonders if Ellen can feel her ribs pressing into her legs.

Sabrina appears just as she is about to flee. When she asks Clair to stay and fight, Clair wonders if maybe she means the disease too – maybe she's noticed more than she's let on; maybe the weight loss is more noticeable than she thinks herself? She'd never imagined reaching weigh-ins in the eighties.

She agrees to stay. She never says she'll fight, but "I'm scared" covers everything.

12.

Somewhere in between Luke and Charlie and Sabrina, there is Thanksgiving. It's her favorite holiday because she spends it with her father every year and she's so excited.

It's the one day of the year she allows herself to eat whatever she wants and not throw it up. She has three hundred and sixty four other days for that; Thanksgiving is meant for happiness and love and laughter and pie.

She hasn't even eaten anything yet and her stomach actually is kind of fluttery, but she feels as if she is in a sugar-induced high already with the anticipation of seeing her daddy.

Her hair is curled perfectly and she has on a loose, silk but casual dress in preparation. It's the way her father best likes seeing her, or so he says (_she can't see why – but she'll go along with it because it might be slightly alarming for him to see her in a form-fitting dress right now_).

Her mother tells her to change.

Daddy isn't coming, she says. Daddy doesn't want to see you (_so they weren't her exact words but that's what Clair hears, anyway_).

God, she needs more Lexapro. She'd be completely dependent on anti-anxiety medicine if only she didn't throw it up and have to deal with all of the anxiety anyway.

All alone in a room of strangers and Ellen, she barely gets through an hour of Thanksgiving dinner. She hasn't touched her plate and she hasn't eaten all day.

Ellen doesn't let her get away with it. If she's really worried about her daughter's old condition, it's superficial. Clair takes a pie into the other room only at Ellen's provocation. She smiles as prettily as possible for the guests while acting the complete opposite.

All the servants leave the room as she slams the pie down on the table. Tears fill her eyes, but she holds them back and faces the pie. It's a standoff. It's not her father's pumpkin. The pie isn't relenting, so she does.

_You don't need to do that_. It's not true. It doesn't matter; she picks up the fork anyway and shoves it into the first and only piece.

Then she sees a mirror and she completely detests herself.

It comes out easily, but she stays in the bathroom anyway.

The hollow feeling isn't going away and it's overwhelming. Dry sobs catch it her throat and she can imagine Katia outside the door, listening – she's sure it sounds as if she is drowning (_she sure feels like it_).

She composes herself just a little before calling Sabrina. She's not sure why she chooses now to call – maybe it's because it's gone so far; she's destroyed every memory of her sacred day that she's ever had.

She calls Sabrina (_she knows she sounds desperate and pathetic, and it's no distortion this time_), and no matter how terrible she was to her earlier, the blonde comes anyway (_who knew the blonde would be so faithful, after all this time?_).

Sabrina comes. When she speaks to her, her voice shakes with so much self-disgust and so many lies that she is sure Sabrina can hear them.

She does say she would rather be anywhere else, and even the Hunter loft (where Sabrina is spending her Thanksgiving) qualifies.

Clair explores Dylan's room thoroughly and makes a few expected comments. She ignores the sinking feeling that Dylan has more than a little bit of a clue as to why she is here.

They go out to eat instead of dealing with all the family drama (_apparently it's not only her family_) and she leaves with Dylan of all people. Alice is there, but that is a minor detail; Alice is hardly who she focuses on.

Dylan nudges Alice and tells her to go ahead. He ignores the pointed, questioning look and waits until he's sure she's far enough away so that she can't eavesdrop before speaking.

Clair is standing there, arms crossed, waiting for a cab. She looks closed-off and quite frankly, hostile. It doesn't make him want to continue with the conversation he is about to begin.

Luckily (_or maybe not so much?_), he doesn't have to.

"Look," she says. "I've heard from Sabrina that you like yapping and I'm not interested in standing here and watching you struggle – well, not when it involves your annoying voice. _Anything_ you think you saw, you should probably just forget about it."

"Clair," he says. "I _can't_ just forget about it unless I know it's over. I may not like you, but your life isn't something I'm willing to sacrifice just for petty high school biases."

"It's not your concern."

Her voice is cool and detached. It's clear the conversation is over, but if that isn't clear enough, the _slam_ as she closes the door of the cab is.

She's sincere when she says thanks for what Sabrina does for her. She tries to be when she promises Sabrina she'll call Dr. Sherman, but the next day, the phone is just too heavy (_he never helped anyway_).

(_She doesn't try, and she doesn't want to, but she throws up the sandwich Sabrina bought for her anyway._)

13.

She sees Dylan again when she's at school. She is at lunch, but she isn't with her usual crowd. Sabrina is off wherever and her minions have deserted her. She's sitting on top of a table instead of the steps, with her legs crossed in their red tights under her dark navy skirt.

Dylan Hunter isn't interested where she sits. He _is_ interested in the book in the book in her arms, and he takes it straight out of her hands when he gets close enough.

"_The Picture of Dorian Grey_," he reads off the cover. It's not what he would expect her to read – it's a classic, for sure, which _is _something he would associate with her – but while the writing may be snappy and pleasant, it's not for the lighthearted; he thinks it has a tone of hopelessness and despair.

"Yes, Hunter," she says, visibly annoyed. She snatches it right back out of his hands. She seems grumpy today – though he can imagine why, with all the rumors still going around about her. "It's great that you can read and all, but will you let _me_?"

"Do you like it?"

She huffs angrily and he's bemused to say that he finds it cute. "What, Hunter?"

"The book, Henley."

"Oh." It's amusing that he has to explain something so simple to someone obviously so smart. She opens her mouth rather quickly as if she's excited to talk about it intellectually with someone, but her face shadows over again and she merely says, "Yes."

He's disappointed, but doesn't let it show. "If you like that, I can recommend some other books for you. _The Fall_ by Albert Camus, for example. I have it if you want to borrow it."

She snorts. "If I want to read it, Hunter, I can get it myself."

He nods and there's nothing else to say, so he walks away.

14.

Clair doesn't show weakness to _anyone_.

The Hunter family seems to be more than just _anyone_, no matter how much she belittles them.

She doesn't plan on talking to Alice. She plans on warring with her to defend her title as queen.

Alice doesn't have what it takes to be Queen B, and she has to know it. They say you have to be great to be an effective ruler. They are wrong. If she used to be great, it's reduced Clair to _this_. She lies, she cheats, she steals – her old ideals have all but disappeared under the desperation.

A little girl from Brooklyn can't be prepared for it. She has parents, people who love her – an older brother. If she could leave her innocence and childhood behind, she wouldn't be halfway where Clair is. If she'd made it, she'd still have to beat the Queen B at her own game.

Clair may be the queen rather than the chess master, but she's the one that cares enough to carry out the game in his absence.

"There's a price to be paid," she says. Truer words have not been spoken.

Alice is almost hysterical when she comes to surrender. The two stand there in their beautiful dresses. One has fallen from grace but is slowly rising from the ashes, and the other is burning as her insides choke on bitter acid (_Clair can't choke on acid because it doesn't have time to build up since she expels it nearly every day_).

(Alice is learning that the type of perfection mythical queens have belongs to the gods. Clair is learning that with perfection comes defeat – _she is closer than ever but still so far away_.)

It's a bad day, and the strength it takes for Clair to hold her head up against the pressure is nearly unbearable. The fatigue eats away at her worn body, literally.

A price to be paid, indeed.

15.

Clair reminds Sabrina in a sarcastic, non-subtle way that she had promised to "be there for her" if she didn't go to France. Sabrina acts apologetic and makes another promise, but her promises are empty and Clair's plea for Sabrina to help her is unheard.

It doesn't matter, really. Sabrina has enough to deal with, and Clair is perfectly willing to take half of the burden.

She comes to her friend crying and shaking with words inscrutable (_not unlike the way Clair herself's heart feels, minus the block of ice_). She says she killed someone. Clair strokes her hair and marvels over how beautiful her friend is even with her face red and puffy and with tears wetting her cheeks. She coaxes the real story out of her.

Diana turns out to be the real problem. It's not Sabrina's fault at all, and there's even a tape to prove it. But Diana is malicious and twists the truth in a way that Sabrina finds logical – it is logical, but Clair isn't going to be fooled into believing it; Sabrina wouldn't hurt a fly.

Messing with Clair Henley is tolerable but unadvised. Messing with Sabrina Cavell-Vale should be stuck with a "Warning! Danger" sign on it.

Bitches like Diana would ignore the sign anyway. But _no one _messes with Clair Henley's friend and gets away with it.

She hatches a plan and makes Luke and Charlie and Dylan all help. They all agree that Sabrina is worth it, no matter how much they hate each other.

It works, and Diana is gone. Sabrina is happy.

There is a reason why they are still friends, after all the hurtful things C has said to S (_and there are more than many_).

16.

She throws up blood today. Maybe it was yesterday. She isn't sure, but she can't bring herself to care. Whatever everyone else claims to see as her _beauty_ is artificial, and while the salt she adds may preserve it, it evokes a sharper pain, which ensures she is unable to deny the deeper wound.

There is another Upper East Side nondescript event tonight, and she and Sabrina get ready together. Sabrina helps her braid her chestnut curls into a chignon, and the blonde decides to wear her hair in a tousled, wavy look.

They debate between two dresses for Clair, and settle on the light blue tulle one. It's light, fairylike. It's fitted down to the waist and has a satin bow and a full skirt. She sends Sabrina to get something and quickly changes – she would have gone to her bathroom but they've always changed in front of each other and she doesn't want Sabrina to think something is wrong.

The dress is loose on her. She looks in the mirror and frowns. She changes angles, wanting to see it from all points of view before judging it. Unfortunately, she can only see it from her own.

Sabrina comes back in (_she never liked it when Clair would scrutinize herself in the mirror, but it's a bit late now to change her position_) and she barely notices – at least, until Sabrina says, "Clair, you look _skinny_," like it's a sudden thing that she's lost all the weight she has.

Normally it would be compliment, but Clair can hear the timid accusation in her friend's voice, and feels offended instead. She practically glares, straight at the blonde. "Fine, I'll change. It's not a particularly flattering dress anyway."

She doesn't care that Sabrina is in the room anymore, and she turns toward her bed and lifts the dress up over her head and perfectly polished hair.

Sabrina almost gasps at her friend's diminished figure.

As she lifts her arms up, her collarbones appear to fly out like broken angel wings feebly reaching for the sky. Her abs seem to have sunken in so much with the rest of her skin that they have fused with her rib bones. Her stomach has sunken in much past the edges of her ribs into practically nothing. Her vertebrae form thin, sharp lines in a rippling effect along her back, and her skin seems to have to strain terribly in order to cover the bones of her hips beneath her La Perlas. It looks as if she can wrap her fingers around Clair's entire upper arms and legs.

Sabrina doesn't say anything. Instead, she changes into her own dress and avoids looking at both Clair's and her own figure – she knows she is skinny, and she can barely feel her own ribs beneath the skin.

Clair has put on a sequined black dress, designed to be fitted at the waist but mostly loose, with a simple diamond necklace and matching bracelet that dangles loosely off her slender wrist (_when she looks in the mirror, she looks exactly the same as before – like a whale – who said black was slimming?_). Her silver headband is adorned with diamonds as well. Sabrina is hesitant in giving her both compliments and criticism.

The makeup to match their choices in clothing is done in silence.

Their departure and their arrival are just as reticent. Sabrina quickly goes to find Dylan with thinly veiled fear in her voice, her face, her eyes. She excuses herself by saying that Dylan will be lonely without her – she's the one that invited him.

Clair tries to pretend she's not hurt. She sits at the bar by herself and sips water (_no calories, no danger – isn't it a much better way to live?_).

"Dylan," Sabrina simply says. Any composure she had maintained has worn off, and her panic is enough.

"What's wrong?" he immediately replies. He brings her closer to him.

She speaks fast, in low tones. "It's Clair. I – I'm so worried, I don't know what to do – but please, Dylan, you can't tell anyone."

"Clair? Are you sure I should hear this?" He's hesitant. "We all know what happened last time."

"I need to tell someone," she pleads. (He agrees, of course.) "Clair was changing in her room today –"

"—And this is the part I don't need to hear."

She barely giggles, and that's when he knows something is really wrong. She is almost never completely serious. He apologizes for the levity, and she forgives him easily.

"She's _so _skinny, Dylan," she whispers. Her eyes are swimming with emotion and tears and she's leaning into him desperately. "I'm not talking about model-skinny. _She looks like a skeleton_."

"Has she been eating funny lately?" he asks.

He searches the room and finds Clair Alone in the other far corner. Her eyes are downcast toward the floor, and instead of being deep dark brown like usual, they look flat and angry – unreadable. He'd say they were glassy with alcohol if he weren't sure that she has had the same glass of water in her hand all night(_he's sure she'd_ _claim it was vodka if he asked_).

"I don't think so. I mean, there was this incident on Thanksgiving, but that was a while ago and she hasn't said anything since…"

He doesn't enquire about the nature of the incident; he already knows. "Are you sure she would tell you?"

When it comes down to it, she isn't.

"If she needs help, she needs to want you to help her," Dylan says. It won't comfort Sabrina, but it's the real, effective advice that she needs. "Watch her carefully, but don't push her too hard. You can try to talk about it, but don't pry if she doesn't want to."

Sabrina still ends up preoccupied. Luke steals her attention away from Dylan and Dylan agrees to let him have her for a dance. He looks over to Clair and she is gone from her spot of all night.

He searches the entire house for her, which is no small task (_Sabrina had asked him to keep an eye on her too_). He ends up with a blank.

He is in a bedroom upstairs and it would be déjà vu if Clair were in the connected bathroom throwing up, but she's not (_which is fine by him_). He looks outside the window. There's a figure, down below. He goes downstairs and follows her out.

The weather outside is crazy. There are huge gusts of wind that seem powerful enough to blow the tiny girl in front of him away. The storm hasn't come yet – the rain is steady, but light so far – but the clouds above loom threateningly, even in the dark night sky.

He yells something at her from a few meters away, vaguely asking her to come inside.

Whatever he says, if she hears it, she ignores. "Did you talk to Sabrina?" she asks instead.

"Yeah," he says. He isn't going to lie.

"And?" He is surprised to hear her throat is thick with tears and wind. Her chignon is coming undone, and already a few loose tendrils fly around her face. She looks ashamed. "Well, do you enjoy being right?"

"No."

He isn't trying to taunt her, and she gets it. She really does, but then there's the other side of her mind cuing her in on the other possibilities. It makes her doubt Dylan. It makes her doubt herself too.

"You want to know what I think?" he asks. He comes closer, much closer.

(She doesn't, but he tells her anyway. He whispers it in her ear like a secret, but he doesn't think it is shameful – she isn't.)

"Behind every exquisite thing that exists, there is something tragic."

She doesn't know what she wants, if she wants what he does or if he wants what she does. But she goes back inside with him because it's dangerous out there with the impending storm. She swallows and she smiles for the party.

* * *

**By the way, if you did happen to be one of the people curious about the ending, feel free to PM me and I'll be happy to discuss it with you. Same if you have any other questions or comments that you don't want to write in a review.**


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note: **I apologize for making what looks like a new chapter but isn't, but I was wondering if maybe anyone wanted me to continue this story. It was originally intended to be only a one-shot, but I do realize that it isn't very complete, and does kind of leave everyone hanging. What does everyone think - does it need to be "finished" or should I leave it as is?


End file.
